Find comfort wherever you may.
When one bloodies their knuckles everyday on their nut of a brain, relief may be found in the oddest of places.
My odd place? Anywhere in which I hold a blank sheet of paper and a trusty pen in my hand.
In crowded places. In lonely places. In pretty places. In ugly places. In any place with pen and paper, my comfort is found.
How profoundly silly is that?